


The Slow Tide

by Lindethiel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s06e01 The Impossible Astronaut, F/M, Missing Scene, Yowzah, river doctor appreciation day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:41:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindethiel/pseuds/Lindethiel
Summary: "You're making it very hard for me to let you walk down to that lake right now.""I'm awful, aren't I?""Make sure to remind me why I put up with you," she instructs knowingly."I'm sure I did."





	The Slow Tide

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little missing scene that I wrote ages ago and have been saving for the 22nd!

### The Slow Tide

The gunshot echoes off across the plane before she speaks in the post-explosive quiet, "Hello Sweetie."

He scoffs, hands slapping against his thighs in indignation at her audacity, "That was a gift!" he exclaims, tossing a hand back at the bitumen behind him where his Stetson has come to a rest by the side of the road.

"Well at least you didn't pay top dollar for it then."

"Ugh!"

"River!" Amy exclaims with a bright smile, practically a-flame in the early morning light.

"Hello Amy."

"You didn't hit the car, did you?" Rory turns, inspecting the fiery-red paint job of the Ford behind him with endearing concern.

"She didn't hit the car, she's a crack-shot!" Amy defends.

"A classic set of wheels like that? I wouldn't dare!" she shoves the colt pistol deeper into her holster nonchalantly, certain to keep it snug inside, "But then again, it is just an Edsel."

Rory does a double take, "Oh my god, it is." She smiles, remembering long discussions and arguments, pouring over 1990's car magazines on her grandmother's living room rug.

The Doctor continues to scoff to himself as he bends to retrieve his hat from the ground, brushing imaginary dirt from the brim, "What's wrong with it?!"

"Doctor, Edsel Fords were the laughing stock of the auto-mobile world... pretty rare these days though," her father informs, running his hands over the hot chilli pepper paint job.

"Laughing stock? But it's all white walls and chrome!?" the Time Lord whines, "Gosh, people in the 60's really didn't know what they had going for them, did they?"

River sidles up to her father, "Laughing stock remember, birds of a feather and all that."

Rory chuckles and the Doctor begins a tirade of finger pointing in the direction of River's smirking face but she sees through his act. He's secretly pleased to see her, relieved even. "It's good to see you too, dear."

He scowls and turns to Rory, "Laughing stock it may be, but I bet you still wanna drive it." He tosses the keys at Rory's chest with a smirk, "Come on, Roranicus."

Rory turns to Amy with a deadly straight face and immediately drops his pack and makes a beeline for the driver's side door, "Amy, it's left-hand drive and everything..." She rolls her eyes and hefts his abandoned luggage.

The Doctor races forward, hat left forgotten on the roof-racks as he intervenes, snatching Rory's pack away from her, "Ah ah ah ah, take it easy now, Pond! No heavy lifting for you! Give me that one too." he all but rips her backpack from her shoulder.

Amy frowns at River who simply shrugs with a toss of her head, "And they say chivalry is dead," she remarks before nailing the Doctor with a pointed glare. And goodness, she thinks he might have blushed before he's avoiding her look to make for the tail-end of the car.

"I was gonna say condescending, but anyway..." Amy snatches up the hat then, ramming it onto her head with a laugh, "Shotgun!"

"What, not you too?!"

"She means the front seat, sweetie."

"Oh."

River takes one of the packs from him and he sonics the trunk, prying it open to arrange the packs in the back next to a picnic basket that's been around the block almost as many times as she has. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stay the fond memories that surface before she taunts him. "I do hope you cleaned that thing out of any incriminating _evidence_ before dashing out on this mad prospect, Sweetie."

"Shoosh, you." He's un-fazed. That would have to change. And she had just the barb to do the trick...

"Unless we're going on a _recreational_ picnic?" Now he's troubled, swinging his thoroughly disturbed expression towards her, eyes worried for her sanity, "Sorry, no." He slams the trunk closed before moving to the cars flank.

"Tsk, shame."

"I'll bet it is," he remarks, to his credit; seemingly putting an end to their cheeky teasing by ripping the car door open on the yammering Ponds with a smirk.

She simply smiles sweetly; steadying herself needlessly with a hand on his arm as she slides past him into the car, careful to brush herself across his body innocently as he waits for her to climb in. Chivalry indeed.

He clambers in after her with a dry expression but she's soon distracted, running her hands along the luxurious upholstery with appreciation as it squeaks and shifts beneath her as she settles in. Her parents launch themselves into a tirade of comments and questions.

"Doctor, there aren't even seat belts!'

"Seat belts are for squares, Pond."

"Where did you get it?"

"I rented it."

"Wait, you drove it?"

"No, I led it out here with a carrot on a stick. Of course I drove it Pond."

"You can't drive!"

"He drives _me_ crazy all the time," River interjects.

Amy laughs, tossing the Stetson back at him over the seat before reaching for the dash with zeal in a quest to tune the vintage radio.

Rory looks up from where he's trying to direct Amy's efforts after a beat, "Hang on, where's the TARDIS?"

"In the shop."

"There's a shop for the TARDIS?" Amy asks, voice skeptical.

"Don't worry Amy, that ship is the apple of his eye."

The look he gives her is priceless, surprised and a little irritated as he grabs Rory's shoulders in front of him, giving him a little shake, "C'mon Mr Pond! Time's a wasting." Rory pulls away from the curb and they all cheer and holler as he kangaroo-hops the car down the road before figuring out the straight-shift gears. Amy finds a station to her satisfaction and the grungy strains of Cowboy Casanova float out of the tinny speakers in the car and River leans back, running her hand up the line of the Doctor's black-clad thigh right under the noses of her parents, clueless in the front seat. His only reaction is the flick of a knowing green glance from under the brim of that stetson before he pulls it lower down over his brow; crosses his arms, and does his best attempt of the John-Wayne-siesta-aesthetic. River beams, giving his thigh a little squeeze and vowing to not move her hand for the entire trip.

~

Amy had her heart set on a proper American picnic. Hot dogs, nachos and salsas. Content to let her mother's whims run wild, River had set off across town in search of what her father would call 'real food.'

Of course, she had underestimated her husband's zeal for unusual flavour combinations and weakness for novelty. Or, well, husband-to-be at the moment. Or, Fiancée?

She frowned, watching him bend over double as he rummaged around on the bottom shelf of the run-down delicatessen they had found tucked into a quiet corner of town.

"Look River!" he returned with his plunder, arms full of various cartons, "They have peanut butter flavoured custard!"

Bleagh.

"That's nice, sweetie."

"And cookies n' cream too."

Eyes rolling she turns back to the shelf before her full of various pickled vegetables and chutneys until with a clunk the shopping basket on her arm suddenly drops like a stone. She glances inside and spies three cartons of custard in various styles.

"I wonder if they have those little fish-shaped fish fingers..."

Slightly irritated and wrung-out River snaps at him, "How are you going to heat them up?"

"Point and think!"

"I'm going to get some decent, normal bread for decent, normal sandwiches, okay?"

"Yep."

He doesn't even look up from his enraptured perusal of the deserts before him and she has to huff, striding off away to a more sane area of the shopping centre. She's perusing the dizzying array of margarine looking for proper, real butter in the dairy section two aisles over when he enters the aisle at the far end. He makes a great show of casually browsing from the corner of her peripheral, sneaking glances as he measurably shrinks the distance between them tentatively. Eventually he comes to stand by her but she continues to ignore him, resolutely staring ahead at the contents of the fridge.

"I got some vanilla bourbon flavour for you... In case you wanted it."

Another carton of custard drops into her shopping basket with a th-lunk.

"Thanks," she says stiffly.

There's a tug at her arm as he grabs the shopping basket from her elbow. She gives him a measured look but he just gives her that flat smile, albeit good-natured. She turns back to the shelves. Just before her fingertips reach the butter, he plucks it from the shelf, "Just the one?"

"Just one, sweetie." She clears her throat, "Right, now, cheese..."

"Already got it," he says to the shopping basket in his hand, tucking the butter inside beside a generous slice of her favourite Camembert. "I got some of that blue mouldy cheese Rory likes too."

She frowns at him, watching him re-organise their shopping absentmindedly, "What are you doing?"

"Helping."

"Why?"

He deflects quite neatly, raising his gaze briefly, "Because I've upset you."

He continues to avoid her gaze, staring resolutely at anything below knee-level with that resting I'm-not-troubled-I'm-just-thinking face which she knew was actually his I'm-two-catastrophes-and-a-tragedy-away-from-a-break-down face.

She sighs, a little kick of empathy going through her. This was a new challenge for him, and he was trying. Her husband really could be the sweetest thing when he wasn't being infuriatingly difficult.

"I'm not upset with you, honey," she offers.

He hesitates, glancing at her warily from beneath his brow, "No?"

"Not yet, anyway."

He blanches a little, "No, of course."

"Of course _not,_ I hope?" she challenges and he thinks a little longer this time.

He winces, "You have permission to be angry with me later," he formally informs her.

This makes her properly smile, "Don't I always?"

He actually looks at her this time, taking in her lilting smile. He sidles close, "River, we're in public..."

"Exactly. You're forgetting how well I know you, Sweetie."

His vulnerable blink makes her heart ache as the truth of her statement sinks in for them both but he does his best to distract her, the blessed man. He slings his spare arm over her shoulders quickly and fires off a witty reply, "Well, you have permission to remind me then, how's that?"

"Better," she says brightly but she knows he can see the residual tension on her face. "Now, fruit, what do you think? How about grapes? I could hand-feed you, you like it when I do that, don't you? Won't Mummy and Daddy be ever so glad."

"From memory they actually might be. Pond definitely, she kept asking after you."

"Really? Well, what an opportunity!"

"River, you could endanger your own existence! What if your torrid antics cause your mother to miscarriage?!" he splutters. " _And_ you'll loose Rory a bet! He puts up with enough from your mother as it is, poor soul!"

She just smirks and turns to walk towards the fruit, "You bite good." She hears him gasp behind her when her little trap dawns on him. Then suddenly there's an open hand pinching at the swell of her backside firmly and a face in her hair.

"I do bite good, and don't you forget it," he growls in her ear and she actually jumps.

"Doctor! Cut it out." She bats at his arm until he lets go, catching his smirk and licorice-green gaze in the corner of her eye.

She tosses her head and continues on down the aisle towards the fresh fruit and he obediently follows smugly until they're almost amongst the fruit stands when he reaches for her bum again, itchy fingers grabbing at her backside playfully before he slides his open hand into the curve of her arse. It's a high-traffic area of the shop, close to the registers, he's blatantly copping a feel and the smirk she _knows_ he's wearing behind her is making her hair curl tighter in irritation, and look, there's even children not ten feet away!

She discreetly tries to elbow him off even as he continues to pluck at the seat of her jeans cheekily.

"Sweetie, stop it!"

"Stop what?"

She rounds on him, turning her backside away from him to pretend to rummage through their shopping, "You know what, you daft idiot. You're a _robot._ Yes, I'm an exhibitionist, but giving a whole Teselecta crew a front row demonstration isn't what I meant when I said I liked showing you off!"

"You like showing me off?"

She turns away as he grins, catching her out. "Spoilers!"

He chuckles and gives her one last parting squeeze before slipping his arm loosely around her hip, perusing the stands before them for some low maintenance picnic fruit as she shakes her head. Sometimes, she really hated him.

~

Supplies acquired and paid for, they wander lazily back down the street to the derelict car park at the bar where they'd left their vehicle of choice. The Doctor glances up and down the back street looking for any sign of the Ponds.

"Where've they got to? I've got a deadline to keep here."

"It's not for hours, honey," River reminds, "Knowing Amy, she's probably dragged Rory into a souvenirs shop. How do you fancy a snow globe of Monument Valley for the console?" she quips, leaning against the hood of the car.

He lopes over, parking himself next to her, "Does it snow in the Monument Valley?"

"I don't know, but I get snow in _my_ Monument Valley all the time," she answers crudely.

He just shakes his head with a slight eye-roll and places the Stetson back on his head. Crossing his arms, he turns his gaze out over the desert that the back alley opened out on. She settles back and follows suit, taking in the scenery in comfortable silence and her mind wanders to the inevitable event that she knew was waiting at the end of this outing.

She remembers it clearly, despite the stretch of many years. The heavy press of the lake against her and the cloying damp air within the suit that was only alleviated by the breath of crisp desert breeze, salted by the lake when her helmet disengaged. She remembered how he looked that day, the still acceptance of the inevitable. Yet laced with a halting worry, his concern for her sake. That care would haunt the harrowing nights and frantic days of the 'reprieve' during the alternate timeline.

She remembered his words too, the measured familiarity that she still heard in his voice on any one of their evenings; gentle words spoken in the space between their pillows, between the clinks of their coffee mugs of a morning.

She remembered the halting strangeness of those brief moments between them on that beach. How interesting that the lifting weight of the water from her body and time's uncharacteristic stillness had seemed far more fragmented than the frenetic skittering at Area 52. Though she wouldn't trade their wedding for the world, those moments at the lake were what had given her hope. Their fleeting words on the beach had felt more like an aborted timeline than anything that had occurred otherwise. Else-wise. That had been different, separate. Unusual. And notable for that reason.

She drew in a deep breath and could almost taste the salt again. Would she be able to taste the salt at the picnic from the future? Would that same dragging sense of _pause_ settle between her shoulder blades again, swinging off of her rib cage like a weight? Would she feel the temporal anomalies pluck and chime against the follicles on her body the same way he had described on nights long ago?

She could feel it coming. Could feel the potentials slowly dropping out of possibility like leftover honeycomb settling at the still bottom of a vat of liquid gold. Like silt in dark water.

It was so close now. And she was so aware of it, like he was. With every passing moment time _stilled,_ like slowly falling leaves coming to rest in mid-air, one by one. She, like he, could feel all the long years of the ancient Earth bared from their feet by the thin crust of sun-baked bitumen. Softened by heat. So close yet held at bay, a crust that will soon crumble to dust.

The air was already so _clear;_ filtered of time pollution to let the sun stream down on them. She looked at him then, every detail and texture of his face visible at this close distance for her to admire. The light seeped into his white skin as though his smooth cheek was her bespoken destination; as though the very sun was enraptured with him standing there, yearning to strike him with her rays.

But he brought timelessness on the air. And she could see it, tucked away in the corners of his misty-green eyes; set aside to be dealt with at the appropriate time. But he still knew it was there, lingering in wait. And she could read it on every inch of his apprehensive face.

This man, formidable and brave. Vulnerable and flawed. Her lover & spouse; her partner in crime and law. Her best friend and greatest irritation. This elaborate amalgamation of a man; forced to capitulate, stuck in this paused purgatory. And yet, without a single protestation, all because of her. Gods above, she loved him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he says, yanking his gaze away from the horizon to land on hers, "That was always all me."

She looks away and considers before asking, "Are you frightened?"

"Of dying?" he pauses in thought, "Not by your hand," and oh, his tender eyes... "Or mouth, for that matter."

They chuckle at their boots together for a moment, but he soon turns sombre.

"I worry though... I worry for your sake," he admits quietly. "And the Ponds..."

For all their unspoken words, his ability to sincerely communicate with her when push came to shove had not yet let her down. She prayed that that would continue to remain.

"I remember how they were after..."

She takes a sharp breath.

"Sorry," he mutters, "Spoilers."

"You don't say that much any more," she observes.

"Neither do you."

She looks away.

"Sorry."

They sit in silence for a little while longer until she says his name in the quiet breeze and he looks up in surprise, "It was worth it. It is worth it... You... are worth it."

He gazes at her a moment longer, then clutches his hand at the crown of his hat before swooping down to lay a thankful kiss on her lips. She hums in delight; kissed by a cowboy under the western sun. Oh, she was a lucky girl. The brim of his hat grazes against her hairline and her hand comes up to cup his jaw as she smiles against his warm mouth. She beams up at his tender eyes when he pulls away and brushes her hand down his shirt front, straightening his bowtie.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Why?"

"It's bad luck to, before..."

"Before what?"

She smirks with real humour this time and he can't help but join, "Spoilers."

He sniffs and turns away, "Fine then, keep your secrets, I don't care."

"It won't be a secret for much longer, my love."

"You will look after them, won't you? After I mean."

"Don't I always?"

He smiles sadly, "Spoilers."

Her heart pangs and opens like a flower for him, "You're making it very hard for me to let you walk down to that lake right now."

"I'm awful, aren't I?"

"Make sure to remind me why I put up with you," she instructs knowingly.

"I'm sure I did."

She smiles, entwining her arms around his before laying her head on his shoulder as they wait for the slow tide to come in.


End file.
